


... In Front of The Fireplace

by steponmeasra



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, F/M, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Other, all in front of a roaring fire while hardly clothed, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steponmeasra/pseuds/steponmeasra
Summary: Asra x gn!mc grinding one out in front of the fireplace
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 89





	... In Front of The Fireplace

**Author's Note:**

> My boo @majestickittay on tumblr suggested some good ol spice in front of the fireplace… And what can I say, the mental image will not leave me. If Muriel hadn’t walked in…. 👀  
> I have like, a bit of a thing for some good old clothed grinding, okay? I say to this Fandom, if you claim you don’t want to dry hump Asra, you are lying. Authors note: For the sake of my sanity, we are pretending that Faust was never involved with this scene to begin with, she was never there, we are preserving her snek innocence lmfaoooooo

“Like what you see?" 

"Do you even have to ask?” His arms around your waist draw you flush against him all the way down to the knee as he kisses you again. “I loooove what I see.” His eyes flash wide as his flirty grin temporarily falls. “Uh, I mean—" 

You kindly cut him off with a tender kiss, ignoring the way your stomach jumps into your throat hearing him say he loves anything about you. You wonder, briefly, if he can feel the heavy pounding of your heart with his bare chest pressed against yours. 

When you gingerly lick his lower lip, he startles above you, a small, surprised sound melting into your kiss. But it takes only a second for him to recover, one of his hands coming to cradle your jaw as his mouth opens, his tongue against yours like the feeling of hot, wet velvet. 

Feeling his lips, the muted crackling of the fire contrasted by the soft sucking sounds of his open-mouthed kiss, you forget control of yourself. For what feels like hours, or seconds, you taste him on your tongue and melt into his embrace, the cold rain long forgotten. 

A drop of rainwater falls from his hair onto the overheated skin of your neck, and if you’d had more presence of mind, you would have wondered why it didn’t sizzle. 

He’s all you can think of, just you and him, alone in this room, wearing only your thin undergarments—pressed against each other so closely. His tongue sliding against yours lewdly as he lays on top of you in front of the fire. 

You can’t help the soft moan that escapes your mouth, and Asra reacts in kind, his hand on your waist squeezing you closer as his chest bows over yours, his hips pushing against yours with a groan that sounds almost painful. 

You hadn’t been quite sure, before, that you were feeling what you thought you were—that Asra was aroused holding you this way. But now you couldn’t mistake the hardness pressing into your hip. 

Without thinking, you writhe against him, desperate to be closer, and his leg between yours slips higher. The pressure against where you ache for him so painfully is so slight, but makes you gasp in need. 

Asra hears the startled, desperate sound, and misinterprets. He pulls back, breathing heavy. "I’m sorry,” he gasps. “We can stop…”

“But I don’t want to." 

You watch as his pupils double in size as he gulps. 

"I mean,” you backpedal. “We don’t have to stop. If—if you don’t want to, I mean.”

He slides his hand down the back of your knee to hitch it around his waist, his hips slipping into place between your legs. He blinks slowly, licking his lips as he experimentally rolls his hips ever so slightly against you.

He answers with a warm, sultry lilt to his voice. “I don’t want to stop." 

Now it’s your turn to gulp loudly as he leans down to kiss you again, almost timidly, pecking your lips with a chasteness utterly at odds with the hardness sliding slowly between your legs. 

Every thrust leaves you gasping as his shaft slides against you through the fabric, the still-damp cloth amplifying the sensation tenfold until you’re squirming under him. Aching for something you can’t quite place, and haven’t a dream of how to ask for. 

Asra keeps his eyes open, heavy lidded and hungry, swallowing your moans as he rocks against you. Gentle, slow, and deep, he moves again and again. At times he loses his rhythm, shuddering against you as he moans into your mouth. 

The feeling taking over your body is unfamiliar, a tension you can’t quite place, a yearning that makes your legs begin to shake as you paw at Asra’s bare back. 

Again, and again, you feel his heavy shaft thrust against you, making you call out to him. 

"Asra,” you whine, begging for something, though you’re not sure what. 

His hips stutter against yours and he feverishly kisses your neck, moaning, “Say it again." 

You can feel the confusion on your face, and perhaps he can feel it in your body, because he insists low in the back of his throat, "My name. Say it again.”

Oh. 

You’ve never heard his voice like this before. This gravel, this rough edge, authority and neediness, quiet and secret, spoken just for you to hear in the privacy of the heat between you. 

“Asra,” you gasp again, gripping his shoulders as he ruts against you harder, biting his lip at the sound. Your head falls back against the bearskin beneath you, suddenly dizzy with the feeling of his body against yours. His thrusts spark something deep in your belly, and your breath catches. “Asra, that's—”

He doesn’t even let you finish before he’s rolling his hips against you in earnest, exactly where you need him. “Like this?” But you can’t catch your breath long enough to answer him. 

You prop yourself on one elbow, feeling your stomach clench, and make the mistake of looking down between your legs. The sight of his hips against yours, his visible arousal grinding against yours, the pink tip of his cock peeking over the waistband of his undergarments and shining wet in the firelight, makes your mouth drop open. 

Your hips push frantically against his as you feel your body start to shake. “Gods—Asra, I'm—" 

His pace falters as he watches you with parted lips, chest heaving and hips pressing insistently against yours. "Oh,” he sighs as you come apart under him. “Oh, Gods, you’re cumming…” He watches you, wild eyed, until his head falls into the crook of your neck while his thrusts sputter against you. 

In the quiet moments after your shared climax, he pulls you impossibly closer, wrapping both arms around your waist as he catches his breath, and silently reeling at the impossibility of you, here, alive, in his arms, saying his name. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, ya filthy heathen. Hit ya girl up at tumblr/steponmeasra ✌️


End file.
